Titanium
by Khalomot
Summary: A soulless boy rescues a broken girl, and finds that their pasts are more entwined than he suspected. This is the story about how they pick up the pieces of each other, and break the ties that won't let them go. ItaSaku.
1. Chapter 1

When she wakes up, she finds that she is staring at an unfamiliar ceiling.

"Drink this." The baritone from her right is smooth and dark. Slowly, she turns her head, and green meets red.

 _Red._

Quickly, she scrambles out of the bed – or tries to, at least. She can barely move. Instead, she falls back onto the sheets in fear, trembling.

The man does not move, aristocratic features unchanging.

"I… I –" She croaks.

"Drink," He repeats. When she makes no motion, he sighs, strides across the room – keeping in her sight at all times – and crouches to the small table next to her bed. She sees a glass of… something. The clear liquid sparks a dark instinct in her, terrifying memories, and this time, she manages to get away.

"No!"

"It is not alcohol, or a drug. It is water." To prove his statement true, he takes a sip. She studies his features, and observes no change in the way he breathes, the way his pupils are shaped – nothing.

Either this dark-haired stranger _(she shudders at the words)_ is a very good actor, or he is telling the truth.

Pulling up all the mental strength she can muster, she asks, "If I don't, what will happen?"

"I will wait. You are tired, scared, and confused. When I found you, you were malnourished and dehydrated. _Drink._ "

She lifts a shaky hand, and immediately drops it. He picks up on the signal, and slowly slides his long-fingered hand to the back of her head, down her neck, and props her up. She opens her mouth.

She is used to taking unspoken orders from beautiful dark-haired men.

The cool liquid glides down her parched throat, and to her unfeeling delight, it _is_ water. She drains the glass quickly, and once more, their eyes meet.

"Sleep."

Pale lids slide down, and the last thing she hears is the flick of a switch.

* * *

She wakes up again. The man is at her bedside. He has black eyes.

 _Was I hallucinating?_

"What is your name?"

The fog in her mind has slightly dissipated, and scattered memories dot her mental planes. Slowly, she digs one out, like a treasure buried deep down underground. The answer to his question lies there.

"Once, I was called Sakura."

* * *

 **Hey, guys! This time, I'm going to try an ItaSaku, because I've been on a roll when it comes to reading that ship. Thanks to everyone who reviewed my first story – and I will not be continuing it. You can decide what T7 screwed up and how Sasori got Sakura.**

 **Uh, also, content warning. In the future, this story will involve violence, forced drug usage and rape.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Wow. I really had a whole world planned out for this story, but I got into a fandom I'd hoped I'd never even go** _ **near –**_ **alas, the universe doesn't work that way. Long story short, I've lost a lot of motivation for this fic, and the Naruto series in general. After the disaster that was Ch. 700 and what came after (and I was on Tumblr for, like,** _ **all**_ **of the wars that followed), I'd shied away from the fandom a bit, which gave my friend the opportunity to pull me into the trash can that is my current fandom home now. I'll try to update, because I really wanted to be able to finish this, but my apologies for it not being as good as it could be.**

 **NOTE: "they were nice to me tonight" will NOT be updated! I wanted to leave a lot of ambiguity around Sakura's circumstances, whatever Sasori had done to take her from T7, and who she was to them. If you want to pull an AO3 and write side stories on why (although wow man that'd take dedication), go for it! Please tell me via PM!**

 **Enjoy chapter two. I hope it was everything you'd expected.**

* * *

It takes three awakenings before she can move out of the bed.

Each time, she remembers more and more.

She was in a house, with many other girls. She served one **two** _three_ four men, each with different names. One was the Young Master, with funny hair and a cold voice, rivaled only by the Master. The second was only on the occasion, when he'd drop in. He was far nicer to her than the others. The third had a large scar on the side of his face, and was most likely insane. He spent more time with a girl named Rin than her. The fourth was the most terrifying – the Master. She was his favorite. That was not a good thing.

 _(why isn't there anything else? Only the barest features of the men take place in her mind, their faces, what she called them –)_

"Sakura-san." It is her mystery caretaker, serving her breakfast. "Are you able to stand?"

"I… I don't know."

He sets the tray down on her bedside table. It makes a clattering sound. He offers a pale hand, and she grasps the black fabric surrounding his arm. She takes _one,_ _ **two**_ steps before staggering and falling to her knees. He catches her in the blink of an eye, and says, "We'll try again. Put your arm around my shoulder."

She does, and they make it to the kitchen.

Sakura is then aware that the robe her savior provided her with is the most modest thing she has worn in years.

* * *

"What is your name?"

The lines on his face appear more prominently as she takes a look at him. He sighs, raking a hand through his black ponytail _(a part of her is jealous because that hair is so perfect – )_

"Itachi. My name is Itachi."

"Itachi," she whispers, testing it on her tongue. It tastes better than any other name she has called someone.

"Itachi-san, what would you like for breakfast?"

* * *

She makes scrambled eggs with bacon and toast.

It is hard, at first, because she still has troubles with moving her feet. Itachi-san helps her, providing her with an arm even if she doesn't request it. There are initial protests from his side, spoken quietly but forcefully, but she responds with _no, it's the least I can do for you helping me regain my health, now could you please tell me where the butter is?_

(it is hard for her to remember the last time she turned someone down.)

He takes a bite, and she watches anxiously, hoping that he will like it. His black eyes bore into her, and she thinks, _this is it, it wasn't good, he'll punish me –_

"This is the best meal I've had for a while."

Her eyes widen in shock. "I – I'm glad you enjoy it. Would you like anything _else_ , perhaps?" and what she doesn't know is that her voice has slipped into a tone sultry and practiced, and Itachi knows that it is what she has been taught to keep herself alive.

"I am fine. Thank you."

The rest of the meal is eaten in silence, and Sakura cannot tell if that is good or bad.

* * *

Five days later, when she can walk on her own and is coordinated enough to make all of the meals and drink water without breaking a glass, she is feeling the cabin fever. Even her previous… _commanders_ let her go outside (albeit with binds that they could keep her close with and… _accessories_ that ensured her cooperation), but Itachi-san has not told her anything.

"You wish to leave."

"I… I'm very sorry, Itachi-san, but being stuck inside a town where I don't know anything –"

"I understand," He intones softly. "I have laundry to do. The washing machines are down two floors and the second door on the right. Can I trust you to be back by three?"

"Yes!" She can leave, with a curfew being her only limitation. And for the first time in a very long while, her eyes seem to shine for a moment.

It takes her twelve steps to get Itachi-san's laundry, ten to retrieve the little she has (it fuels a long-dry fountain of amusement in her to think of the stoic man shopping in the lingerie section), twenty-one to get to the door, and – _oh,_ she can't even count as she bursts through the hallway, down the stairs, and barrels through the door on the right.

Inside, an old woman stands by a washing machine. She turns her head, beady black eyes staring through her soul.

"O-Oh, I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you. Please forgive my insolence!"

She cackles. "Child, I'm not your master. Go ahead, make noise! It's good for my ears. Keeps me awake."

Everything the woman said blurred together after one line – _I'm not your master._

Master.

 _(why does that word feel so - )_

" _M-Master, no, please, that_ _ **hurts –**_ _"_

" _Quiet. Nephew, come here."_

" _Hn."_

" _It's your turn. Take her away. I am growing tired of her protests."_

" _As you wish, uncle."_

" – girl! Hey, girl!"

It is then that Sakura realizes that the laundry is scattered everywhere, she is on the ground, in a ball, and something wet rolls down her cheeks.

In her half-bestial state, she doesn't realize that they are tears.

"Oh, for god's sake – ITACHI!"

Footsteps thunder from above, and the door flies open, Itachi-san running in. His normally immaculate ponytail is messy, and the old woman tries to explain the situation. "All I did was say a couple words to her –"

"Did you mention anything about owning or belonging to someone?"

"I told her I wasn't her master –"

"Chiyo-sama." A hand gently travels down the length of Sakura's neck, reassuring her that it exists, and pulls down the back of her collar.

"NO!" The cry is that of a cornered animal, fear making it lash out.

"Sakura-san." Hot breath ghosts over her ear, and she crumbles. The tears slide down faster. She barely registers the old woman's hiss of breath, and misses the look of sorrowful understanding she shoots him.

For on the nape of her neck is a fan – the unmistakable symbol of the Uchiha clan.

* * *

Itachi carried her back upstairs.

"I am afraid, Sakura-san, that you will have to stay up here for a while longer."

"Please, no…" and he is not sure if she is talking to him or the past. "I…"

"You are clearly not ready for contact. Certain words or actions trigger undesirable responses in you, memories. I do not like to interrogate someone who has just had a breakdown, but I need to know before it fades – _what were you thinking of?"_

She whimpered, and he sighed. Obviously, she is not ready –

"It… hurt," The whisper comes out slowly but steadily. "It didn't hurt in the normal place – all of them were large – but it hurt differently the last time. I couldn't move. I… pleaded, told him to stop, and Master gave me to the Young Master. He wanted me to dance for him. I could barely walk. I didn't dance." Something takes over, something repeated and burnt into her system, her subconscious, and Itachi dreads the next words out of her mouth. "I should have always obeyed the masters. It was my faul –"

" _No."_ Both of them barely recognized the growl that came from his pale lips, so different from his usual apathetic tone. "It was never your fault." His grip, tightening instinctively, relaxed, and he made his way to her room. "We will talk more in the morning. Go to sleep."

* * *

 **I was tempted to leave the original author's notes in here, but I decided to provide a CliffsNotes version. Think about Sakura's scattered mental state. Why do you think that is? She has to count things in order to keep track of her surroundings and world, and doesn't really seem to be able to process things, unless they're embedded triggers. Do you think she's really only been at Itachi's place for a few days? Her verb tense keeps changing. Try to imagine why. For a girl who's staying at a strange man's apartment after a terrible event that she keeps repressed mentally, even with the drugs flushed out of her system, Sakura is very calm and unquestioning around Itachi. You, dear reader, can probably figure out why. She does not (oh, but she will, if I finish this story).**

 **(note: this is unedited, haha, maybe I'll try to edit the next chapter if I even complete it)**

 **(note 2: guess what liam neeson movie this was based off of it's not that hard)**


End file.
